Locker 2375 Chapter 8

Posted on | March 21, 2009 | No Comments

Locker 2375 c8

Hungry

Mr. Smith pointed towards me and told Sam to go and find a seat, his assigned seat.

“Sam what are you doing in here?” I asked.

I should have known Sam would be up to his old tricks and if not beat me to detention join me here before too long.

Omar took one look at Sam and tried to hold in a laugh, he wasn’t very successful.

The problem with laughing is that it was in direct violation of at least 3 rules in the rulebook and seemed to be something Mr. Smith was on the listen-out for.

“Boys”, Mr. Smith said like a Santa in distress with his foot caught in a log rack as he tried to pull himself up a chimney.

“If you boys make me come over there I promise you nobody is going to have a smile on his face!”

Omar let out a quick response to the challenge, as you would expect from the student council president.

Under his breath Omar said, “It would be hard to have a smile on our faces with that smell of toxic garlic coming from your shoes”.

“Are you making a crack about my shoe problem”, Mr. Smith shot back and started to walk towards us.

I wouldn’t have been concerned except I was clearly not sitting in my seat and was not sure how good Mr. Smith’s memory was.

Omar in the quietest voice I had ever heard said, “stay calm boys and follow my lead.”

“Mr. Smith we were just commenting on how much we liked your Kiwi/Hawaiian/retro shirt and were wondering if there was any chance you could ask the senior without a clue team, I mean education leadership/innovation/inspiration team, about making your shirt the basis of a new uniform?”

Omar was good really good there was no question in my mind why he was the leader of student council!

Before Mr. Smith had a clue what had hit him he stopped in his tracks, took a look at his shirt and smiled.

“You like it”, he said.

Mr. Smith looked down at the shirt and said, “I have a closet full of them all the same fantastic dead grasshopper on a windscreen green.”

Then as quick as he walked down the row of desks he turned around and walked to the front of the detention hall saying something about what a great idea we kids have.

Mr. Smith looked at us and then half in his head and half out loud said, ”this might be my ticket out of detention and into hall patrol or maybe if I’m lucky the bus monitor position!”

Then I heard the sound again, the bike bell and scraping.

In a whisper like my life depended on it I looked at Omar and asked, “ do you hear that?”

“All I could hear Max was Sam’s stomach” Omar said rubbing his own stomach.

Sam’s stomach was a bit on the vocal side.

I remember once in grade 5 Sam’s stomach was so loud in Mrs. Smith’s music class that she thought that someone was playing the bongo drums as she was trying to explain the difference between the note sequences of a triangle and a harmonica.

Sam’s stomach was so loud and so unpredictable that Mrs. Smith once actually gave him house points for creative improvisation.

The one thing everyone liked about Sam though was because he was always hungry he always seemed to be planning for that inevitable moment when he would need to feed the beast, his stomach.

Sam was a walking cafeteria!

But it wasn’t the fact that Sam was a walking cafeteria that caught my attention at this moment; it was the fact that sitting in front of me was Sam wearing rugby cleats, a paint smock and what looked like surfing shorts.

“Sam what are you wearing”, I said with a confused but inquiring look on my face.

“What does it look like I am wearing Max” Sam said.

“I am wearing a pear of rugby cleats, an art smock and my favorite board shorts”, Sam looked at me then down at himself like I was out of my mind.

“And you are wearing that fashion statement combination because?” I didn’t want to sound too sarcastic because I was sure Sam would have some food to share and I was beginning to get very hungry.

“Well you see, I wanted to demonstrate to the Diploma Program Accreditation committee that there was an art to rugby and that it was like surfing a fine line between an abstract and impressionist painting”, Sam said with a smile on his face.

“Unfortunately as I swung from the PE hall into the main foyer with my rugby ball in hand I misjudged my velocity and bumped cleat first into Mrs. Loadwick’s chin, it wasn’t pretty and 15 seconds later I was being pulled by my ear down here” Sam said with a huge grin on his face.

“Sam do you have anything to snack on” I asked as my own stomach began to rumble and yodel.

“Max this is your lucky day”, Sam said and reached deep into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a pita and chip sandwich that had lost a fight between a butt cheek and a chair.

Not to be out done Omar took off his shoe, removed what looked like a tinfoil liner and dug deep to expose what looked remarkably like a piece of pizza.

“I find if you take a piece of pizza and put it in your shoe with a piece of tinfoil over it you get a warm and remarkably thin piece of pizza that tastes almost like the moment it was delivered, as long as it doesn’t rain” which with a wink Omar reminded us is a pretty rare thing around here.

What could I offer?

Lucky for me Ms. Shelley had shielded me from the exploding toilet so I still had a half eaten day old donut in my shirt pocket that I could also offer up to this makeshift picnic.

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